My family has had a weekful of distressing news. Two people we care about each suddenly and shockingly lost a close relative. Both friends are extremely kind, thoughtful and gentle women, and both are just now going through the worst kind of terrible. From where I sit, unable to do one single thing to bring back these most cherished family members for my friends, it’s a helpless, lost feeling. So today’s blog post is a bit of a ramble, kind of in line with my wandering thought processes.
Here’s one place I’ve rambled to: I’m thinking about a book another friend was telling me about over dinner the other day. She just finished Mitch Albom’s 2006 novel For One More Day. This isn’t a book I’ve read – one Albom story seems to have been enough for me, no offense to Mitch – but the premise is intriguing. If you could have one more day with a loved one who has died, how would you spend it? What would you talk about? Would you resolve festering resentments, would you let go of all that tightly packed baggage, or would you blurt out the sweeter stuff you’d always meant to say?
I don’t know about you, but I’ve occasionally had remarkably vivid dreams about lost loved ones, dreams in which they were indeed back for one more day. And it did feel like a second chance. One that I’d believed I would never have.
Guess what I’ve been thinking? Maybe our second chances are right now. Yep, before the first chance has even ended. So this is my recommendation: Go and track down your loved ones. Go ahead. Traipse down to the basement where your spouse is walking the treadmill, or to the dining room where your kids are working on their school projects, or to the den where your brother is channel flipping. Hug the ones you love. And go ahead and blurt out all that sweet stuff we mentioned earlier.
Call it today’s good deed. That’s what I did.
In the words of that timeless poet John Lennon: “Wherever you are, you are here.” Next time not so maudlin, I promise.